


Heavy Rain

by icepick



Category: The Evil Within (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Lovers, Epilepsy, Fluff and Angst, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kleptomania, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PTSD, Post-TEW1, Rating Will Be Changed to Explicit Later, Seizures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29629233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icepick/pseuds/icepick
Summary: Warm whiskey, no ice machine. Breakfasts and dinners melting into each other. Hot eggs burning the roof of his mouth off.Sebastian didn’t remember how much time had passed before Ruvik had appeared on his doorstep, offering a reluctant co-existence he called a partnership.They won’t get away with it,he said, and Sebastian laughed—a pathetic cackle of a drunk, desperate man.---A post-TEW1 fic where homeless Ruvik and unemployed Sebastian are trying to get back at Mobius.
Relationships: Sebastian Castellanos/Ruben "Ruvik" Victoriano
Comments: 19
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1. The one with a heavy _Gone Girl_ reference.

Ruvik took a liking to ill-fitting clothes. At first, he had nothing to wear, then he didn’t want to wear anything else. Baggy sweatshirts with stretched bottoms, jeans—always comically loose, holding on a worn-out belt cinched to the last hole.

After living on the streets, he was all bumps and sharp edges—even more than Leslie had been. Wrapped in layers and layers of fabric, he had the kind of rigidness to him a homeless person would have, and when he slept, his baggy clothes made it seem like his limbs were sticking out at tense, uncomfortable angles. He had an old field jacket, which he admitted to having stolen from a clothing bin, and it was two sizes too big, with worn-out elbows, but Ruvik liked it and refused to trade it for anything else. “What I look like is the least of my concerns,” he would say every time. “Not with the life I’ve led for the past couple of months.” 

Sebastian had always wanted to know more about that life but never really asked. With them living together, he had a lot of other questions on his mind—the sort of questions that loom over every unwilling partnership. _Who are you? What is going on inside your head? How did you drag me into this? What does it say about me?_

Each one of Ruvik’s sweatshirts was hooded. The hood brought back memories, most of them horrific, gory, but for Ruvik it was just an old familiar habit, something that had helped him cover the wreckage of his face back in STEM. His new face had redness tracing down the cheeks—stress rash, as he had explained—but otherwise it was all shiny new skin. Somehow, Ruvik couldn’t wrap his head around it. He often pulled the hood up absentmindedly, both on the streets and indoors, as if hiding his face had become a habit he couldn’t break. He got moody or stressed—and up went the hood. Sometimes he even slept in it.

The Mobius chase wasn’t going as well as planned, and Ruvik wasn’t exactly the dream flatmate. Anxious and cocky, with his snarky remarks and unsettling humor, he was one of those people who had to constantly push others around. He had no consideration for Sebastian’s privacy—always invasive, direct and blunt with his questions, always trying to win some imaginary argument, to regain control no one was trying to take away. When he got bored of fights, he stared at Sebastian in silence—this was probably the worst one of his habits. After a prolonged sigh Sebastian would ask, “You want something?”—and Ruvik would always shrug no.

Even when he asked for help, his voice came off gruff, arrogant. Demanding. He hadn’t been a pleasant person in STEM and he’d turned out to be equally unpleasant outside of it. Sebastian didn’t know what else he had expected when he’d agreed to this. He couldn’t afford to pick allies. Ruvik was the only one who knew where Mobius was located; he was the only one who could find a breach in their system, and Sebastian kept telling that to himself every night when he went to bed, a gun resting right next to him on his old unwashed sheets. 

He spent days looking into Ruvik’s new, youthful face, only to see red patches of skin grafts every time he blinked—it seemed as if they were engraved on the inner side of his eyelids. But with time the image started to fade, the gun was moved to the nightstand, and Sebastian finally started to relax. His feelings towards Ruvik began to slowly turn from resentment to reluctant acceptance sprinkled with despair. 

It was weird, keeping a former enemy so close. Lying in wait had Sebastian climbing the walls, and Ruvik was the only person he could talk to. It was either that or complete isolation. After a while, Sebastian gave up and opted for the former.

He got to watch Ruvik try his first pizza, awkwardly bite on his first hard shell taco and take a sip of his first soda pop. It was funny to see him experience something as basic as eating fast food for the first time, and there was something sweet in the way his face lit up when he found something he liked. Sebastian would smile at that, almost against his will, and Ruvik would give an uncomfortable twist of lips back. 

“I got you a cola,” he announced one day as they left a grocery store. “Vanilla, the one you seem to like. I also got the cherry-flavoured one for myself.”

Sebastian was taken aback by the fact that Ruvik actually remembered what he liked, but his gratitude quickly faded, as he realized he had been the one paying, and the coke cans hadn’t been anywhere near the counter.

“It’s a gift,” Ruvik explained. “A surprise, if you will.”

He had a habit of shoplifting—he wouldn’t have survived otherwise—and no matter what Sebastian said, he kept stealing. It could be anything, from chewing gum to a bag of frozen broccoli, and Ruvik said he was saving money, but it was probably breaking the law that he enjoyed.

After a few pointless fights, Sebastian stopped taking him shopping. Even if going out alone was dangerous, it was still better than having to keep an eye on Ruvik so he wouldn’t get caught. Sebastian enjoyed the rare moments of peace, but the best thing about shopping alone was not having to deal with angry glances as he pulled up to the liquor store. He always viewed drinking as a justified coping mechanism. It helped him get through the day, and after a couple of beers, Ruvik didn’t seem like such a bad company. 

“So, you want one?” At some point it seemed rude not to offer a can, and Sebastian did, and Ruvik widened his eyes, as if trying to silence a boisterous kid. He took the beer, however. Sebastian had never seen him talk so much.

 _You swore not to let him get too close, and yet here you are,_ he told himself. _Chatting, getting way too comfortable._ _He’ll snap your neck at night without a second thought, if he needs to. He’s not some old buddy you should be having a beer with._

Sensing that something was off, Ruvik gave him a curious glance. He looked like he was enjoying himself, and his seemingly-innocent face, flushed from drinking, made it especially hard to perceive him as a threat.

_There you go—getting soft already. There you fucking go. He probably thinks you are best friends now._

Every time Sebastian woke up, screaming, drenched in sweat, Ruvik would appear on his doorstep, stiff and silent, with his clueless expression and his ghostly-white hair. Sebastian could hear the distinct shuffling of the oversized jeans as he disappeared back into the hallway.

“Why do you do this?” he once asked, aimlessly, not hoping to get anything out of it. 

They were having coffee and bacon sandwiches—awfully non-aristocratic food. Not that Ruvik would complain, not in his situation.

“Do what?” he asked, the question sounding more like a statement.

“You know what. Why creep into my room every time I have a nightmare?”

For a few seconds Ruvik froze, contemplating an answer.

“I’m worried. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” His eyes were flickering between Sebastian and his coffee mug. 

“You are the first person I’ve ever trusted,” he finally stated, his tone amicable but entirely without warmth.

“Can’t say the same about you.” Sebastian let out a bitter chuckle, only to be met with Ruvik’s cold, prying eyes. He and Leslie had almost the same eye-color—icy grey, except Leslie's eyes had a subtle bluish undertone. How did Sebastian even remember?

“Fair enough,” Ruvik muttered, and the kitchen succumbed into silence.

After a few long seconds, Sebastian sighed, taking the matter into his own hands. “Listen, it’s not that I think you are unreliable or unsuitable for the job—”

“You don’t have to say anything. I understand.”

There he was, the good old Ruvik, with steel in his voice and barely subdued rage in his eyes. Of course, he didn’t understand shit. He was upset but too proud to admit it, even to himself. Sebastian felt a strange need to comfort him, even though he had no idea how—and this urge felt unsettling. 

They both so desperately clung to the idea of _tolerating_ each other, but there was definitely more to that. 

Sebastian’s arm stretched out, almost unwillingly, but he couldn’t dare to make himself actually touch Ruvik. He always solved his problems with touching, it was his fool-proof, one-size-fits-all way to show support—squeezing shoulders, patting backs, bumping fists. Ruvik was probably the worst person to support in such a way, so after a brief moment of hesitation, Sebastian placed his hand on the table, awkwardly and quietly, the way you usually put a glass down after an embarrassing drunken toast.

Their hands looked ridiculous in comparison.

“Do you ever feel weird in a tiny body like that?” It wasn’t the best ice-breaker, but Sebastian couldn’t come up with anything better right now. 

Ruvik lowered his eyes, studying his hand as if he’d seen it for the very first time. His fingers clenched the soft stretched-out cuff of his hoodie, forming a fist.

“A body is a body,” he said. “There’s no need to be picky.”

“Guess so. But it must have been hard to just turn into a kid all of a sudden.”

“Leslie Withers was twenty-five years old.”

“And the size of a kid.”

“Don’t infantilize me,” Ruvik snarked. “That’s ridiculous. We are the same age.”

Sebastian raised his eyes, observing Ruvik’s face—all sharp, rough edges, as if it had been drawn with a few careless brush strokes. No scars, but the same intense stare, the same dark circles, inky black against the splashes of rash.

This face looked strikingly different when it had belonged to Leslie, but Sebastian preferred not to dwell upon it too much. Leslie was dead and there was nothing he could do about it. He still felt bad for him, of course—just not enough to indulge in mourning. He had lost far too many people, and mourning each and every one of them would have driven him insane. 

Or maybe he was just eager to leave Leslie behind. Maybe he didn’t want to think of Leslie the way he thought of Ruvik, to taint him with those thoughts, whatever they might be.

He did drunkenly check Ruvik out a couple of times—it was more of an instinct than deliberation. Sebastian wasn’t used to having someone so close, someone who wasn’t Myra, and this, coupled with the desaturated stillness of the upcoming winter, made him feel restless, isolated. It’d been a while since he had thought about sex, and Ruvik didn’t look like someone who’d give rise to such a thought—hell, he didn’t even look like someone you’d want to hug. But a brief spark was there for a moment; a brief consideration, a sudden _What if we resort to_ that _one day?_

Sebastian tried to leave those thoughts behind, just forget they had ever existed, but they were already out there, like a stain, like that ragged nail-shaped mark on his palm. The two of them having sex. There was nothing desirable about Ruvik, it was just an odd impulse—and yet the fact that such a thought had crossed Sebastian’s mind was enough to make him want to drink himself into oblivion.

“Would you like another cup of coffee?” Ruvik rose to his feet, and Sebastian instantly snapped to. 

“Yeah—Right, sure.”

He looked at Ruvik’s back, hunched over the kitchen counter, and could imagine his expression quiet easily. Unreadable, with a steely edge, one of those expressions that dig their way into your memory and stay there, popping up in your nightmares from time to time. He remembered disappointment flickering in Ruvik’s eyes as they talked about trust, how weird it was, how entirely unlike him—and then, one by one, the pieces started falling into place. 

_He wants you to like him. For some goddamn unholy reason he wants you to like him and you don’t._

Suddenly, looking at Ruvik felt like chewing glass.

_And you don’t, right?_

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sebastian lowered his eyes, trying to focus on a round coffee stain his cup left on the table. A vague, fear-like feeling surged up within him, some sort of agitation that grew stronger as he was analyzing Ruvik’s recent behavior. When his gaze turned inward, towards his own actions, towards his hand next to Ruvik’s, towards his drunken thoughts, this feeling turned into dread.

 _How did I let you drag me into this,_ he thought, desperately trying not to look at Ruvik, whose small figure was suddenly taking up the entire kitchen. The questions were pouring into his mind, the usual set—Who _are you? What’s going on inside your head?_ —but the one that stood out the most was _What have we done to each other?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2. The one that makes my love for Esmeralda Torres painfully obvious.  
>  I just want to put her in every single one of my fics. Don't mind me.

The grocery bag, slightly damp from the drizzle, hit the kitchen floor with an audible thud. Sebastian immediately began unpacking the groceries: two cartons of milk, cigarettes, an instant pancake mix, three cans of mac and cheese, frozen chicken nuggets—should be enough to last them a few days. 

Ruvik hated frozen food. Sebastian couldn’t care less what he hated, but the sight of Ruvik cringing at an undercooked hot pocket filled him with twisted satisfaction. His revenge was petty in its domesticity, but at the very least, it was fun. 

It had been a week since the start of the rain season; a week since that disconcerting conversation over coffee—the painful seven days of self-reflection and speculation that Sebastian had spent contemplating the mess they had landed themselves into. Seven days of denial and bargaining.

Ruvik seemed unfazed, which was pretty much his usual state, except his invasive behavior was now bothering Sebastian more than it should have. Ruvik stood too close, gazed too intently, smirked with too much complacency—or maybe Sebastian was just imagining it, looking too deeply into what was actually Ruvik’s usual behavior. He was like that, after all: blunt and haughty, yet oddly clingy, like a stray cat who shows up at your porch every day after you fed it once.

Sebastian ran fingers through his hair, trying to tame loose strands. _Stray cat. More like a cheetah, hot on the heels of its prey._

“Canned macaroni and cheese.” Ruvik’s voice suddenly rang from behind, making Sebastian flinch. “You know that I hate it. Would it kill you to buy healthier food?”

A lot of things had changed since STEM, but one thing remained the same—Ruvik still had the ability to creep up on people. He enjoyed following Sebastian around from time to time with that clinical wide-eyed look of his—as if he saw yet another subject with his skull ready to be opened up.

Sebastian hated people behind him, and Ruvik knew it but still continued to do whatever he wanted. He deserved hot pockets and deserved mac and cheese—which he would definitely leave untouched just out of spite.

“You know how much I hate when you do this.”

“When I do what exactly? Complain about food?” Ruvik snickered, gliding over to him, rising on tiptoe to look over Sebastian’s shoulder and study the food on the counter. He was so close that his hair brushed against Sebastian’s cheek—the bastard just didn’t know what personal space meant. 

“Yeah, that too,” Sebastian rolled his eyes, turning around in hopes of making Ruvik step back, pressing his palm into the scrawny shoulder, only to face resistance.

“You’re a handful, you know that?” he muttered, and Ruvik answered with a quiet, shallow laugh.

“I’ve been told that before.” 

Coupled with his emotionless face, it sounded creepy, even though he was probably aiming for playful. Somehow, even in this body, he still managed to look threatening.

Sebastian studied Ruvik’s face, weary and puffy from a lack of sleep, dark circles standing out against sickly pale skin. He had always looked unhealthy, annoyed and overworked, but today something felt off. He seemed almost wobbly, and there was something in his eyes—tense, profoundly unhappy.

“You, uh, feeling alright?” Sebastian’s fingers instinctively dug into Ruvik’s hoodie, as if trying to prevent an escape. Ruvik twitched, eager to do just that.

“Yes. Why are you asking?” He looked startled; deer caught in the headlights. His voice sounded oddly defensive—being sick wasn’t the problem, but he clearly had a hard time accepting the vulnerability that came with it. 

“I’m feeling—functional. That should be enough for you.”

With that little pause, Sebastian was reminded of the first time Ruvik had a seizure: they were driving away from Elk River, waist-high weeds everywhere, sky in front of them turning bonfire-orange. Ruvik was talking until suddenly he wasn’t, and when Sebastian asked what was wrong, it was already too late for an answer. He still remembered how they drove back home in silence, making a short stop in 7-Eleven to get some water that Ruvik later refused to drink, and as Sebastian watched him drift in and out of sleep, he suddenly realized that here, outside of STEM, Ruvik depended on him for survival. Here they were equally mortal. Equally vulnerable.

“Functional, huh?” Sebastian’s voice had a lot more edge to it than he originally planned. “Listen—You look like hell. Like you are about to faint or—” he trailed off, reluctant to address the elephant in the room. “We need to get you some medication.”

Ruvik scowled, pressing his lips tightly together.

“Sure, what is your plan this time? Robbing a pharmacy?”

Begging himself to be patient, Sebastian cocked his head to the side, as if trying to reason with a teenager.

“We will figure something out. I know people. Some of them can get almost anything for a price.”

The corners of Ruvik’s mouth curled—an inappropriate, unpleasant twitch of a smile. He never smiled much. Maybe it was the chipped tooth, or maybe he was just like that—not a smiley guy.

“So you were dirty. Just like James.”

“How is it even—Listen, it’s not like that. I wasn’t dirty, it’s just, uh—When you are a detective, you meet all kinds of—”

“I didn’t ask for an explanation.” Ruvik stated coldly. “And I will have to decline your dangerous, borderline reckless offer. Mobius has its own ties in organized crime, so as soon as you contact a wrong man, we are dead.”

“I know.”

“And you are willing to put everything on the line? Why? I’m perfectly fine without any medication.”

“I don’t want you to go through this hell, that’s all.”

_Great, now he’ll definitely think there's more to this. Think. Say something normal._

“I mean, it’ll affect the job,” he continued and that little addition sounded so sudden and out of place that it made Ruvik raise his brow a little.

“The job,” he echoed, fingers suddenly on Sebastian’s wrist—a subtle indication it was time to let go. The hoodie was something Sebastian had long forgotten about, and when Ruvik suddenly grabbed him, he flinched, letting the fabric slide out of his fingers.

The coolness of Ruvik’s skin almost made him shiver. Ruvik had chapped hands, but somehow his touch still felt good. Almost too good for such a moment.

Sebastian swallowed and shook his head. They’d been trapped in this apartment for way too long. They were losing their minds.

“Anyway, just… You need to look after yourself more,” he averted his gaze, eyeing Ruvik’s bright pink knuckles. “And also you know what? Don’t creep up on me like that next time, okay?”

“Seb.” Ruvik’s fingers squeezed his wrist, just enough to draw attention without causing any pain. “Are you still afraid of me?”

It all flashed before Sebastian’s eyes—the jarring pain, the smell of decay, the sunflower field, the wet-looking patches of skin grafts. 

He winced, trying to regain control.

“Not, uh… No. Not of you. But you _are_ one of the things that nearly killed me in there.”

_“Things?”_ Ruvik looked insulted. “Did you just call me a _thing?”_

“It’s not like that.” Sebastian felt the grip on his wrist weaken and immediately shook his hand free. “It’s—It’s complicated.”

“Care to elaborate?” 

That son of a bitch just had to know everything. 

“Christ, what else do I say? I still see you in every single one of my nightmares. I don’t want to, but you are just a one giant fucking flashback!”

This time Ruvik did step back—or rather jolted back, as if Sebastian had hit him. There was a rare, almost unfamiliar emotion in his bloodshot eyes. Pain.

“So that’s how it is,” he said quietly. “I thought we were past that.”

Sebastian felt a ripple of guilt, as if something inside him had gone sour. No matter if he was right or wrong, every time he hurt Ruvik he felt nothing but regret. Heavy-head, bad-taste-in-the-mouth kind of regret that made him wonder whether Ruvik had some kind of special power over him or he was just getting old and soft.

“You killed dozens of people, so excuse me for not being able to just brush it off.” Sebastian took a deep breath. He already said too much. There was no need to go any further.

Ruvik definitely did not share the sentiment. He was glaring at Sebastian, lips tight, eyes resentful and narrow, flaming with fury. Somehow, no matter in which body, he still had the same eyes—red-rimmed, unhinged, bloody.

“As if you would act differently in my place,” he said, his tone eerily calm, drastically different from the alarming look on his face.

“The difference between me and you is I would.” 

_“The difference between me and you_ is that you didn’t suffer long enough.” 

Sebastian felt a burst of rage—sudden like a slap on the face. It was throbbing behind his eyes, shifting from his chest down to his guts, engulfing him, spreading like an infection. 

Ruvik knew all about Lily. He knew about everything Sebastian went through—they invaded every corner of each other’s minds, they’ve seen everything, and now Ruvik was playing _that_ card. He knew there was nothing Sebastian wouldn’t do to bring Lily back, and yet had no problem taunting him. Next to the gut-wrenching nightmare of his past, Sebastian’s story probably looked like a boring slice-of-life piece in _Krimson Post_. 

The air in the kitchen felt electric, and Sebastian mentally prepared for the floor to crack, for the barbed wire to wrap around his ankles, pulling him into another one of Ruvik’s nightmares—an undone corpse, a red dress on fire, shards of bones and brain matter everywhere. They weren’t in STEM anymore, but with the way Ruvik was looking at him, it sure did feel like it.

“You are thinking about your child, aren’t you?” Ruvik asked, visibly proud of himself, happy to be in control. “I know, because our brain isn’t capable of embracing all the suffering we have experienced at once, that’s why it chooses the most painful moments.”

“Show me where I asked,” Sebastian snarled, too exhausted to deal with Ruvik’s medical crypticism. 

“What I mean is…” Ruvik trailed off, averting his gaze, as if he was about to say something highly uncomfortable. “I know how to control people, in STEM or in the outside world. However, with you it feels different. Unpleasant. I’d hate to cause you pain, Seb.”

“The feeling is mutual, but you aren’t doing a good job.”

“Neither are you.”

“Touché,” Sebastian chuckled, feeling something inside him soften. He looked at Ruvik who was sulking in the door frame, wobbly from exhaustion and suddenly way less frightening. That made him want to say something soothing but, as soon as he opened his mouth, a loud knock on the door cut him off. Ruvik gave him an alarmed look; his teeth gritted. People didn’t just _come to visit,_ not these days, not after Sebastian had been let go from his job, and Joseph, the only one who could occasionally stop by to knock some sense into him, was nowhere to be found.

“Open it,” Ruvik said, his voice ice-cold, uneasy. “I’ll stay in the bedroom.”

_With the gun,_ Sebastian thought. _Smart_. 

“I’ll take it,” he said, confident that Ruvik knew exactly what he meant. “Don’t wanna go out there empty-handed.”

The knock repeated—this time louder.

“As you wish.” Ruvik nodded briskly, pulling up his hood. “Just do something. Make them leave or I will.”

Sebastian had enough of his snarky remarks at this point, but they didn’t need another fight, so he just nodded in what he hoped was an assertive fashion. It took him ten seconds to get the gun and push Ruvik inside the bedroom to stop the endless flow of unnecessary commands.

It felt different now that there were two of them. Ruvik’s well-being was now Sebastian’s responsibility and, as much as he hated to admit it, he was worried. He had nobody else out there in the world, and if something happened, he’d end up on his own again. As twisted as their relationship might be, knowing that there was someone as deeply screwed as him, working on the same goal as him, brought Sebastian comfort. He didn’t like to dwell upon it, but they were definitely attached to each other, the way two last men on earth would have been. It might have been a connection born out of sheer despair, but none of them seemed to be bothered by this.

Ruvik’s words rang in his ears as he put his palm on the door handle. _I’d hate to cause you pain, Seb._

The caution of Ruvik’s voice, the subtle neediness of his tone made Sebastian smile, just a tiny bit. 

_Don’t get killed, and you won’t._

***

“Rise and shine, old man, how are you holding up?” Torres’s harsh, bright voice echoed in the hallway, and before Sebastian could do anything, she was already inside, eagerly patting his shoulder with her heavy hand.

Sebastian hadn’t seen her since he had been let go from the forces. Their partnership was brief, unremarkable, but that’s exactly what he needed at the time. Torres was no match for Joseph, but she was dedicated, energetic, fearless—everything Sebastian could no longer describe himself as. It was Torres who made sure he lasted as long as he could, and for that Sebastian was grateful. 

She hadn’t visited much after that psychological evaluation, just threw a glance at the paper signed by some quack and rolled her eyes. _Bullshit. We’ll figure something out. They won’t get away with it._

For a few days, Sebastian had trusted her. Then the trust had somehow faded away, soaked in booze, numbed by endless evenings spent flicking through TV-channels, worn down by lonely nights in local pubs. Warm whiskey, no ice machine. Breakfasts and dinners melting into each other. Hot eggs burning the roof of his mouth off.

Sebastian didn’t remember how much time had passed before Ruvik had appeared on his doorstep, offering a reluctant co-existence he called a partnership. _They won’t get away with it_ , he said, and Sebastian laughed—a pathetic cackle of a drunk, desperate man.

Ruvik. He was still in the bedroom, and, knowing Torres, he would have to stay there for a while. 

“Hey there,” Sebastian mumbled, awkwardly stepping away to let Torres into the living room. Nothing in there directly indicated that he wasn’t living alone, but Torres’s eyes narrowed at the pillow on the couch—a typical detective stare.

“Sleeping right on the couch, huh? Guess some things don’t change.”

“What are you doing here?” Sebastian tried to act as relaxed as possible, but the words sounded forced, stilted. He couldn’t relax, not with Ruvik hiding somewhere in the apartment, possibly planning something that might cost one of them a life. 

“Just checking on you.” Torres sat down on the couch, crossing her ankles, her jeans cheaply blue, scrunched on top of the padded collar of her boots. “You know how everyone in the precinct thinks you’ve gone nuts.”

“And what do _you_ think?” Sebastian asked gruffly.

“You look like an old sack of potatoes, but there’s one thing I know for sure—you’re not insane.”

“Well, good to know.”

There was a good few feet between them, but Sebastian didn’t feel like getting closer. Right when Torres had entered the room, he’d noticed a bulge under her oversized jacket. A gun.

“Just finished a shift?” There was no way she did, so he decided to be frank, go for a confrontation. He didn’t like to play pretend, especially with Torres, whom he’d liked from the very beginning. After STEM, he found it hard to trust people, and living with Ruvik made him painfully suspicious, jumpy, almost paranoid.

Torres smirked.

“Cutting right to the chase, huh? What about you? Do you always greet your guests with a gun?”

“I didn’t expect you. If you’d called—”

“You wouldn’t have invited me.” She stopped him with a sharp gesture before he could finish. “Listen, Sebastian, I’ve been worried. You promised you’d call regularly, and yet you don’t, you never even pick up.”

“And you decided to just drop by?”

“Call it an intervention if you want. I can’t let you rot here, chasing something you will probably never find.” Her eyes became heavy, downcast. “You deserve better. You deserve a chance to move on.”

Sebastian sighed. If only she knew what he was up against. 

“Listen,” he began carefully, his voice negotiator-calm, almost soothing. “I like you, Torres. Really like you, you’re a good cop. But it’s not your call to—”

“What are you doing here?” Ruvik's voice almost made Sebastian jump up, and sheer panic immediately surged up within him. That bastard and his ability to creep up on people. This bastard and his constant desire to stick his nose into someone else’s business.

“What the hell?” Sebastian mouthed, and his eyes immediately darted towards Torres. She looked tense, but it was the suspicious luck of surprise on her face that made Sebastian’s heart sink.

“Sorry, didn’t know you had someone over,” she said, her voice unusually slow, raspy. “My bad.”

“How the hell do you two know each other?” Sebastian looked back at Ruvik, feeling suspicion, the worst kind, grow deep inside him. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Torres slowly reaching under her jacket.

“She’s Mobius, Seb,” Ruvik said dryly, and that’s when Torres drew the gun with a violent jerk of her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic is finished, I just need to find time to edit the rest of it. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed what I had posted so far!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3. The one where the writer's epilepsy is showing.

“Don’t you fucking move!” 

Torres jumped up from the couch, full shooting stance, her pistol pointed at Ruvik’s head. She had no problem killing him, there was a wild intensity in her gaze, impatience of a hound. _They don’t want him alive anymore,_ Sebastian thought. _He will die. If you don’t do anything, he’ll die._

For a second, he considered surrender. A cowardly impulse, it brought some sort of comfort, some resolution to their constant running and tilting at windmills. Sebastian wouldn’t miss it; he wouldn’t miss the crummy apartment, the endless piles of dossiers with dead-eyed faces staring at him, the shabby liquor store, the merry-go-round in front of the apartment complex—old and flimsy, missing one seat. Lily would have still decided to ride it, though—she’d had a passion for broken things.

There would probably be several cars outside—two of three, assuming they were afraid of Ruvik. However, if they were knocking on his door, they had probably thought there was not much to fear. And they were bringing the hammer down, just like that.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sebastian saw Ruvik—ruthlessly determined, unforgiving. Ruvik who thought Torres’s death was a matter of seconds, Ruvik who waited for him to draw the gun, Ruvik who trusted him to get them out of this mess. Ruvik who wasn’t going down like that, not again.

Suddenly, Sebastian was back to being himself. Pulling the gun on Torres, he hurled himself across the room, trying to get in front of Ruvik in time. 

_He is the only one capable of making a difference. Your death doesn’t mean anything._ His _death is the end._

The revolver was heavy in his hand, his palm slippery from sweat. 

“Seb—” Ruvik began, shifting behind him, uncomfortable, unsure of what to do. He was so convinced Torres would have been dead by now, and the mere thought of negotiating with a Mobius officer had cut the ground from under his feet.

“Stay right where you are,” Sebastian’s teeth gritted as he held out his hand, preventing Ruvik from escaping. He didn’t have much time. If Ruvik decided to step in—

“What are you doing, Sebastian?” Torres yelled, fierce, with her teeth bared and her gun now pointing at his chest. “Don’t you know what he is?”

“Oh, I know what he is,” Sebastian said, trying to stay as calm as possible. It was just like another day on the job. It wasn’t the first time he was held at gunpoint.

“Just shoot her,” Ruvik commanded from behind. “It’s the only way.”

The cold, sadistic undertones of his voice almost made Sebastian shout _No, it’s not._ For a second, he didn’t know who was the one in need of protection here, but then he reminded himself: this was exactly what Mobius wanted. To separate them, to make him fear Ruvik again, to undermine the fragile trust they’d been working so hard on building.

His grip on the revolver tightened. 

“Just stay out of it, alright?” 

Ruvik audibly scoffed behind him, determined to take control. 

“Give me the gun, Seb.”

“I’m not giving you anything.”

“I said—”

“Now, there are two ways it can go,” Torres cut in, dangerous undertones still evident in her gruff voice. “Either you move away or I shoot you.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you, but I will if I have to.” Sebastian tried to put as much emphasis on the first part as he could. The images of Torres dead, sprawled across his floor in a pool of blood, suddenly overflowed his mind, making his stomach twist. 

“Christ, Torres, I trusted you,” he began and then trailed off, unsure where he was going with that.

Torres’s eyes lit up, a short flash of sincere understanding, unusual for someone who was holding a gun.

“You don’t get it, Sebastian,” she said. “Mobius screwed both of us over. I’m on your side.”

“Sure you are.”

“I am, just let me explain!”

“Lower the gun, and we’ll talk.” For a second Sebastian felt a glimmer of hope, but then Ruvik’s voice came from behind him, callous, commanding.

“Shoot her.”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s using you,” Torres groaned. “He’s a manipulative sadist. A murderer.”

“You think you and your pack of fellow pet microbes are better than me,” Ruvik began, his voice retaining the usual eerily calm undertone, the lull before the storm. “You tortured me, you ripped me apart—”

“Shut your fucking mouth!” Torres yelled, her grip on the gun handle tightening. Both her and Ruvik were on edge and Sebastian could feel it. The situation needed to be deescalated. Fast.

“If you don’t give me the gun, I’ll take it myself.” Ruvik warned, making Torres’s wince in disgust.

“Look, I don’t wanna hurt you, Sebastian.” Anger in her voice was almost palpable. “But this son of a bitch needs to be dealt with.” 

“Stay away from him,” Sebastian growled, his body tensing up as he was calculating the best option. Push Ruvik away, run towards Torres, disarm her.

No. She was too fast, military training. They could split up, attack her together, but then one of them would probably get shot. Besides, Ruvik was never good in combat.

_You can’t just put everything on the line like that,_ Sebastian thought to himself. _You are not alone anymore. You have someone to protect._

Then came the headache—a sudden defiance, a jab of intense, gripping agony. Before Sebastian was completely engulfed in pain, he saw Ruvik walking past him, right hand stretched out, a look of determination on his face.

_No_ was all Sebastian could say before the pain got worse. A familiar high-pitched noise pierced the room; crushing weight, bright light, blood, fire, smell of decay. He was blinded, pain running through his whole body with every heartbeat.

He forced his eyes open, and saw Torres, paralyzed and lost, squeezing her head with both of her hands. Ruvik was next to her, his rash bright red against his pale skin—it always got worse when he used his powers.

“Stop,” Sebastian heaved, unsure if his voice was loud enough. “You w-will... You will kill her.”

_And yourself._

“She has to die.” It seemed like Ruvik’s voice lost all its color. He was looking worse with every second, his skin greenish, blood coming from his right nostril, leaving a faint streak on his lips. 

“She h-has to—” Ruvik breathed out, and then the pain suddenly subsided, which could only mean one thing.

Ruvik’s hand went down. His staggered, losing his balance and his throat made an unsettling, choking noise, a horrible omen of what’s about to come. Sebastian had a second to make a choice: it was either catching Ruvik or making a break for Torres’s pistol.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, even though Ruvik couldn’t hear it.

Still staggering, Sebastian jerked forward, trying to reach the gun that was now on the floor, only a foot away. No fight followed. Torres was still blindsided by the aftermath of pain, blinking rapidly, gasping for air. Somewhere behind him, Ruvik’s body hit the floor with an audible thud.

Sebastian rushed towards him, falling to his knees right as the convulsions started. Ruvik was on the floor, his pale skin sickly bluish, eyes rolled so far back Sebastian could barely see the irises. His whole body was jerking, almost in a steady rhythm, and the foam around his mouth was red from blood.

“Shit, shit, fuck!” With a shaky hand, Sebastian put Torres’s gun on the floor to be able to roll Ruvik over to his side. “You couldn’t choose a better time, could you?” 

“What… the hell happened?” Torres suddenly snapped to, her voice still thin and weak. “I was—I went—Shit, where is my gun?”

Sebastian immediately turned towards her, the revolver clenched tightly in his hand.

“Don’t do anything funny.”

“Christ, Castellanos, it’s never easy with you, is it?” She gave him a faint smirk—something entirely out of place in their situation—and then stretched her neck out, eyeing Ruvik’s body. “What, is he having a seizure?” 

“Yes. And if you try to come any closer, I’ll blow your brains out.”

She chuckled, folding her arms on her chest.

“You care about him an awful lot, don’t you? A minute ago you refused to shoot me and now look at you. Ready to murder in cold blood.”

“A lot has changed during that minute,” Sebastian muttered. “And I don’t _want_ to kill you. I want you to slowly, _calmly_ walk towards that door and never show up here again.”

“It’s weird how he got into your head like that. Guess it’s early to write him off. The fucker still got tricks up his sleeve.”

“If anyone’s brainwashed here, it’s you.”

“Well, at least I’m not letting a literal Doctor Death make a pass on—” She bit her lip, understanding she’s about to say something she shouldn’t. She was impulsive, harsh, quick to judge, just like Sebastian back in the day, but at least she had a shred of self-discipline. 

“Christ, out of all people,” she muttered, eyes downcast. “Out of all people, Sebastian, what kinda mojo is that?”

Sebastian glowered at her, his fingers clenching Ruvik’s bony shoulder. 

“Anything else you wanna say?” 

Torres took a deep breath.

“Listen, Sebastian. I know it’s hard to digest, and you have no reason to trust me after what I’ve done... But you have to hear me out, I’m just as interested in bringing Mobius down.”

“Then do it. I’m not working with you,” Sebastian gritted his teeth. “You knew what I was doing. I told you everything, I was looking for answers and all you did was lie to my face.”

Torres shook her head, as if in pity.

“There are so many things you don’t know, Sebastian.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Now is not the time. But Kidman and I—If you ever need our help, you know how to contact me. I’m willing to overlook—” Her eyes darted to Ruvik’s body. “Our little differences. I just want it over. I want out.”

_“Of fucking course_ there is Kidman.” Sebastian suppressed a bitter chuckle and covered Ruvik’s cold, chapped hand with his own as he felt the body in his arms finally starting to relax.

“He’s breathing again,” Torres noted, picking up on the hint. “Guess it’s time for me to leave. But Sebastian—”

“You know where the door is.” He was trying to hide the desperation in his voice, to swallow down the sour aftertaste of betrayal. It didn’t go well, and seeing that, she signed.

“Alright. But please, be careful. With him and… In general.”

Sebastian watched her leave, quietly, not saying a word, as he was mindlessly stroking the back of Ruvik’s hand with his thumb. As soon as the door closed, he leaned over, carefully holding his palm over Ruvik’s nose. His breathing seemed even and steady. It looked like he was sleeping.

“You bastard, you got us in trouble again, a shitton of trouble. I got so damn scared.” Leaning in, Sebastian carefully brushed a damp strand of hair off Ruvik’s forehead. “But you are not dying any time soon, you hear me?”

Ruvik mumbled something in return, his eyelids half open. He wasn’t fully conscious—it usually took a while for him to recover. A mix of blood and saliva around his mouth left a wet spot on Sebastian’s pants, and he thought that he would probably need to bring some paper towels.

It was too late. Ruvik’s eyes fluttered open.

“What—Where is she?”

“She’s gone, it’s okay,” Sebastian began, but Ruvik just gave him a long stare, as if all he’d heard was gibberish.

“What day is it,” he said, voice flat, too flat for a question.

“Thursday.”

He always asked this question _—what day is it, Seb, what day is it—_ every time, as if it had somehow mattered. He had never forgotten where he was or who he was, but the day of the week had always escaped him, and if Sebastian didn’t answer, he fell into angry panic.

“Uh. I see. What... What we,” Ruvik trailed off, stumbling over a mix of words that didn’t make any sense. “What were we doing?”

“Torres came, threatened us with a gun.” Sebastian tried to be as brief as possible. “We will discuss it later, right now you need to—”

“What day is it?” Ruvik suddenly asked, his mind resetting instantly, probably unable to digest too much information. Or maybe seizures just worked like that. Sebastian still wasn’t sure how they worked. He probably should have done his research by now.

“It’s Thursday.”

“Did I—God, did I really—”

“Yes, you did.”

Ruvik groaned in irritation, wiping his face with the back of his palm, spreading blood and saliva everywhere. Then, without a warning, he tried to sit up, only to fall back in Sebastian’s lap.

“Oh _f-fuck.”_

Sebastian barely ever heard Ruvik swear, so this little episode brought a faint smile to his lips. He decided not to suppress it—a lonely, upsetting attempt to lighten the situation.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” he said, helping Ruvik sit up. A few seconds, and they were standing, Ruvik’s arm thrown over Sebastian’s neck.

“She’s—gone. She’s gone, right?” Ruvik’s fingers dug into Sebastian’s side—a desperate, almost painful attempt to stay in control. Before answering, Sebastian lowered him on the couch. Talking wouldn’t make much difference anyway.

“Seb.”

Okay, maybe it would.

“She is gone. It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay, I’m here,” he patted Ruvik’s shoulder, amazed by his own awkwardness. “Look, I’m just gonna bring you some paper towels. Be right back.”

As soon as the bathroom door closed behind him, he pressed his hands to his face—so firmly his eyeballs started hurting. It was time to count to ten and breath, a dumb thing that of course wouldn’t help. He couldn’t let himself panic. Not now, not when he had to think for two.

“What took you so long?” Ruvik stared at the towels, confused. “Ah—right. I remember now. Of course.”

“That’s good, now let’s, uh, get you cleaned up.” Sebastian tore off a towel, and dabbed Ruvik’s chin with it. It reminded him—or both of them—about Lily, and Ruvik didn’t seem too happy with this development.

“What are you doing, I’m not a child.” His voice was harsh, demanding, just the usual Ruvik voice. He took the towel, clumsily wiped his face and stared back at Sebastian. “I remember her pointing the gun at me. And you chose to protect me. Thank you.”

It seemed like speaking took a lot of effort, so his words were completely devoid of emotion, and that little detail made Sebastian chuckle.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Sorry,” he couldn’t help but smile again. “It’s just—Ah, sorry, nevermind.”

Ruvik blinked at him and then stared back into space.

“I remember… voices. I remembered voices very well, so as soon as I heard it, I knew who… Who she was. She was—She was in Mobius, I worked with her.” He paused, deep in thought. It seemed like building long sentences was especially hard for him. When he finally looked back at Sebastian, his face was blank. 

“What was I talking about?”

“Torres. But we can talk about her later. Right now, you need to lie down.” Sebastian paused, reluctant to say the next words. “You can, uh, use my bed. Probably. I mean, yeah, you definitely can.”

Ruvik nodded, confused.

“Right.”

He managed to stagger to his feet, insisting he doesn’t need any help, and headed towards the door. Sebastian decided not to argue. As he was patting his pockets in search of cigarettes—after all this mess he could use one—he heard Ruvik throw up in the bathroom sink.

Just the usual.

The rain had gotten heavier and big drops of water were hammering against the balcony window. Sebastian took the first drag, feeling his lungs fill up with smoke, and closed his eyes, trying to relax as he exhaled. Nothing happened. His muscles were still tense, cigarette trembling in his shaky fingers.

_It’s gonna be alright,_ he said to himself. If what Torres was saying was true, no one would come after them. Still, it would be wise to get out of the place, at least for a little while. They could never know who else works for Mobius: maybe it’s the cashier from the local supermarket, maybe it’s the old guy from upstairs with his bad knees and pieces of egg sandwich in his unkempt beard. There wasn't a single person Sebastian could trust, except maybe the one who was currently puking his guts out in his bathroom.

The balcony door was open, and Sebastian heard the bed squeak as Ruvik gracelessly fell onto it. He was in no shape to travel, so there was no way they could leave until morning. Sebastian pictured himself holding Ruvik while they stumbled towards the car and brushed the idea off. The man needed his sleep.

Cigarette burnt his fingers, forgotten, and Sebastian noticed a small pile of ashes on the floor. He needed to stop thinking about the future and concentrate on the present. But first, he had to check up on Ruvik.

The bedroom was dark, with only a thin streak of light falling on the floor from the crack between the curtains. Ruvik was curled up in the unmade bed, tangled in the covers, not even bothering to crawl under them. He was already asleep and all Sebastian could do was wrap him up like a burrito so he wouldn’t get cold. He would probably sleep through the rest of the day and night, so there was no need to worry about him any further.

Trying not to be too loud, Sebastian closed the door and headed into the living room, anxious to come up with something to occupy himself with. Ruvik’s laptop was on the coffee table, the lid still open. Sebastian pressed the power button to get the thing out of the hibernation mode, and squinted at unreadable lines of code. Nothing new. Still nothing he could understand. 

He put the guns on the table—his trusty revolver and Torres’s semi-automatic pistol. Now both he and Ruvik had a weapon of their own, except Sebastian didn’t know if Ruvik was any good with firearms. Perhaps he’d had a gun before he had been captured and put inside STEM—it’s hard to live alone in such a big house and don’t have any weapons. His father probably left behind a formidable collection, mostly rifles as was often done in noble families.

If only they could get their hands on Ruvik’s money.

There was nothing to do, except drink and maybe watch some TV, so Sebastian flipped it on and plomped down on the couch. He didn’t take any beer this time, only gin hidden in the inner pocket of his jacket, much to Ruvik’s disapproval. Gin and nothing to mix it with. Straight is good. Cheap and needlessly celebratory, but good.

“Try and stop me now, you bastard,” Sebastian muttered to himself, taking a big gulp out of his flask and wincing at the taste. There was no one to stop him, and the feeling of warmth in his throat was so satisfying that even loud-mouthed rednecks riding dirt bikes on TV didn’t seem that annoying.

He passed out on the couch, the headache still throbbing behind his right eye. _Thud, thud, thud._ Ruvik’s powers have always left a mark—a shooting pain that made him wince against the light, a faint echo of the piercing noise in his ears. Splashes of bright light under his eyelids—circles and squares, jumping, chasing each other. 

He dreamt about the world where he had overpowered the agony and got to Ruvik in time to stop him from hurting himself. It was just a wall of pain, after all, just a flash of light, familiar like a prison cell to a death row inmate. Just a bit of a struggle, and then he would have been able to walk again. To lunge at Ruvik. To pull him away, making him snap to, finally putting an end to the torture. And he had lunged, grabbing Ruvik’s arm to lower it, but instead his hands had just rested there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruvik's seizures are mentioned in the model viewer, but not many people actually use this in their writing. I went further and decided to let them follow him into the new body.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4. The one where fluff meets gore.

Sebastian was woken up by noises at night, faint tapping and clatter. His head was still throbbing—a mix of residual headache and hangover—and he couldn’t remember how and when he had fallen asleep. The TV was muted, flipped to some nature show, so he had probably been up at some point, deciding not to turn the thing off. Maybe even having a few extra swigs of gin while he was watching _The Life of Birds_ or whatever the night-time shows tended to be called.

Sleeping with one eye open had become one of his habits ever since STEM. Now, even with all the drinking, he jolted awake again, suspicious, sweaty, craving a cigarette. He swallowed, hard, trying to get the nasty, sour taste out of his mouth. His father had always held a bottle of water next to his couch when he had drunk. Maybe Sebastian should have started doing the same—stocking up on water, getting ready to pass out, admitting defeat.

From the couch, he could see light coming from the half-open bathroom door. Ruvik never left the door open. He was a private person in some aspects and shamelessly public in others. Leering, standing a little too close, suffocating people with his nosy questions—all of that wasn’t a problem, but washing hands without closing the bathroom door was considered distasteful.

Sebastian licked his teeth, tasting stale tobacco, and staggered to his feet, his neck sore, head still foggy. Slowly and quietly, he headed towards the bathroom, his gut cold, him trying not to trust it.

Through the crack, he saw Ruvik hunched over the sink. He seemed relatively well for someone who had suffered a seizure, and Sebastian finally exhaled, not realizing that he had been holding his breath.

Ruvik was leaning forward, his face almost touching the mirror, tensed up in disbelief, as if he’d seen something nobody else could see. His fingers were clutching the sink, knuckles pale-white, slightly shaky from the strain.

“Hey,” Sebastian decided to come in—there was no way Ruvik didn’t see his reflection. “You alright?”

It was a stupid question, and Ruvik lowered his head with a scoff, unsure whether Sebastian deserved an answer. His hair was hanging over his face—choppy, uneven strands damp from sweat. 

“Do you need anything?” He seemed to regain his ability to speak coherently, but his voice was still raspy, weary. 

“Just wanted to check on you, that’s all.” Suddenly realizing the painful awkwardness of the situation, Sebastian bit his lip. “It’s just—you know, uh, after everything that happened—”

“I see.” Ruvik ran a hand through his hair, stopping midway to find a bump. “Did I hit my head?”

“It was either you or her gun, and—”

“Wise choice.” From his tone, it wasn’t clear whether the choice was wise or not.

“I should probably go,” Sebastian said, but Ruvik suddenly let go of the sink, making a sharp turn towards him.

“No. Don’t.”

His eyes were wild, desperate, and it took Sebastian off guard, so he stopped dead in his tracks, one hand in the air—an awkward gesture of peace.

“Alright, alright. What should I do?”

“I don’t want to die, Seb,” Ruvik blurted out, as if it was something people just said to each other casually. “This body… I don’t think it’s capable of further enduring it. The seizures, the headaches... His brain is—” He suddenly stopped talking, puzzled, trying to suppress an emotion Sebastian couldn’t read. “Sometimes I feel like it’s falling apart. Like it was a reckless, ill-advised decision to choose Leslie Withers, and I should have waited for someone more stable, more suitable to my needs.”

Sebastian frowned at these words—Ruvik always spoke of Leslie with disdain, a calculated detachment of a scientist. The concept of Leslie being some sort of _vessel_ had always made Sebastian sick in his stomach, but now wasn’t the time to bring it up.

“You’re not gonna die, okay?” he said, trying to sound confident, as if his gut hadn’t gone cold from Ruvik’s fatalism. “I won’t let that happen.”

Ruvik gave him a smirk—lifeless and weary.

“There is nothing you can do, Seb.”

“Then, uh—” Sebastian paused, desperately looking for words. Ruvik in his post-seizure depression was probably the most difficult Ruvik to deal with. No matter what he heard, he always found a loophole, always twisted and bent the words striving to give them the most horrifying meaning. Gutting them like a week-old fish, so you could see the smelly intestines. 

The depression usually lasted a day or two, but this didn’t make it less terrifying. Somehow, Ruvik had always found the strongest arguments, something even a lawyer would stumble over. With a snap of his fingers, he could make his whole existence seem utterly hopeless, and Sebastian knew how dangerous hopelessness was for someone who had nothing.

“Listen, you are not alone,” he began carefully. “I’m with you and… And you are smart. I’ve never met a person who’s smarter than you. They killed you once, they stuck you into a machine, and you _got out_.”

Ruvik’s smirk grew into a bitter smile, and his eyes, usually piercing, calculating, remained bleak, downcast.

“Why does it matter to you? You will be happy to finally get rid of me, won’t you, Seb? No nightmares to haunt you. No more monsters from the past breathing down your neck.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!” Sebastian put his hands on Ruvik’s upper arms, trying to be gentle but still making him flinch. “Look at me.” Ruvik’s eyes widened, but he still did what he had been told. “I don’t want you to go anywhere or die or disappear or whatever. If I did I would have—I would have killed you myself already.”

“You already tried.” Ruvik’s gaze was cold, glassy, but he was a sad sight in this poorly-lit bathroom, with his unkempt hair, his oversized hoodie and his bloodshot eyes. In no way he resembled the monster he once was, and Sebastian felt his heart fill with affection for this confused, awkward, lonely man.

“A lot has changed since then,” he said, and there was probably something in his eyes that made Ruvik cock his head to the side in bewilderment. He still didn’t attempt to break free, as if waiting for Sebastian to prove something, and Sebastian felt like he should.

“What I said this morning is hard to forget. But it’s not what I think when I see you,” he whispered, deciding to just leave his doubts behind and go for whatever feels right.

Ruvik made a disgruntled, awkward noise when Sebastian drew him closer, pulling him into a hesitant, mismatched embrace. Sebastian was about to pat his back because he didn’t know any better, but suddenly, Ruvik eagerly pressed himself against him, wrapping his hands tightly around Sebastian’s waist. His grip was almost painful and that made Sebastian feel like he should do something, except he didn’t quite know what. All he could think about was a sudden, overwhelming feeling of warmth and his own wild, heavy heartbeat.

“Every time my brain gives in—” Ruvik began gruffly, and Sebastian suddenly snapped to attention. “—I start thinking… This is the moment when people turn to a god.”

“What do you mean?”

“Death, Seb.” His voice sounded too callous for someone who must have been engulfed in a turmoil of pain. “Every time this body can’t handle me and my powers, I think about it. About death, about fear that leads people to the path of performative religionism.”

“And you, of course, don’t want to join.”

“No.”

“What does it leave you with?”

Before answering, Ruvik buried his head in Sebastian's shoulder, and his touch felt like pure electricity. 

“Loneliness, I guess.” His voice came off muffled, barely audible. “And fear of fading away.”

“You’re not fading anywhere, I won’t let you”

“You drank too much… And you’ll change your mind.”

“And you think too much and will change yours,” Sebastian ran a strand of Ruvik’s soft, messy hair between his fingers, careful not to touch the bruise. Ruvik made a dissatisfied noise but didn’t argue. His breath was heavy and hot on Sebastian's skin, and it made his thoughts tangle.

“Why the fuck did you walk into the room when Torres was there?” he whispered, not even knowing why.

“I was worried about you,” Ruvik replied. “She is Mobius. I had to interfere.”

“You could have gotten killed, you fucking bastard.” Sebastian tried to sound angry, but the fierceness of his voice was so brittle, it sounded more like misery. 

“I wouldn’t have let that happen,” Ruvik said firmly. He fell silent for a while, but before Sebastian could say anything, he spoke again, this time in a much softer voice. “I don’t want to be a flashback for you, Seb. I don’t want to be a pet monster. A mistake.” 

His words made Sebastian’s heart ache.

“Listen to me… Sometimes I say things I don’t really mean. Something I no longer believe in.”

Ruvik relaxed his grip a little, throwing his head back to look at Sebastian. His face was all red—maybe from embarrassment, or maybe it was just the heat. For a second, Sebastian thought he would lean in for a kiss, but Ruvik didn’t, and it made Sebastian feel ashamed of his own impatience.

“I have a request,” Ruvik said, trying to stick to his even, matter-of-fact tone. He was awfully serious for someone that flustered. 

“Sure.” Sebastain’s voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “What is it?”

“I need you to… Can you stay with me, until I fall asleep?” Trying to regain his composure, Ruvik slid out of Sebastian’s arms, and combed his hair back with his fingers. “You don’t have to do anything. I just don’t want to be alone.” He took a step back, contemplating what he had just said, and then his eyes locked on Sebastian’s, his face tight. “I guess it would be a suitable situation to say a _please_.”

Sebastian knew what he would answer even before he could think the whole thing through.

“I’ll stay with you.” He shrugged, desperately trying to bring some casualness into his voice. “It’s okay, no problem.” 

Then he suddenly decided to repeat it, as if convincing them both. 

“It’s okay.”

When they entered the bedroom Ruvik pulled off his hoodie and unbuttoned his old, worn-out jeans. Sebastian was watching him undress as he lay sprawled on the bed; it wasn’t the first time, but now it felt completely different. He couldn’t make out Ruvik’s face in the darkness, and even if he’d had, he probably wouldn’t have figured out what he had been thinking.

Something fell out of Ruvik’s pocket as he was folding his jeans, hitting the floor with a loud, metallic sound. Sebastian propped up on his elbows: gas station keychains, a whole bunch of them. Ruvik gave him an embarrassed look _—don’t you dare say anything—_ and immediately started collecting the keychains, all of them ugly, all saying the same thing. He quickly shoved them somewhere between the folds of his hoodie, and Sebastian suddenly imagined him in a gas station, hasty and reckless, making a grab for some useless shit nobody wants, while the cashier is looking away. 

_Way to go with those bottomless pockets, Sticky Fingers._

He watched Ruvik slide under the covers and curl up into a ball, facing the door. They were as far away from each other as possible, respectfully giving each other space, still stunned by what happened, unsure what it meant. Sebastian was still cursing himself for thinking it could lead to something—why would it ever lead to anything? He should think more about work and less about bizarre Ruvik scenarios. Nothing had happened yet, nothing irreversible. It was just that—a hug.

The streak of light coming from the crack between the curtains made their bodies look distorted, as if they had been cut in half. Ruvik’s hair stood out in the darkness, eerily white, like a blank canvas. It was unclear when he was going to fall asleep—he looked stiff, frozen, like a statue wrapped in a blanket—and Sebastian dreaded the fact that he might have to stay in bed with him for hours, silently praying for his breathing to finally even out. Ruvik barely breathed, though. If anything, he looked dead.

“We should leave in the morning.” His voice rang out right when Sebastian stirred, ready to get up.

“Did I wake you up?”

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Fine.” Sebastian pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to concentrate. His head was still throbbing—even, loud thuds, like little hammers. “Found us a place in the outskirts. Nothing fancy, but good enough to lie low.”

“I see.” 

It was a typical Ruvik thing—starting a conversation and losing interest halfway through. Getting busy thinking. This time, Sebastian couldn’t blame him, though. With wind wailing outside, none of them wanted to imagine leaving the apartment, getting lost in the morning fog, spending days or probably weeks in a stuffy motel room. Possibly never coming back.

“Tell me about your wife, Seb. How did you meet?” Ruvik’s question came out of the blue and Sebastian scowled at him in the dark.

“What the—Come on, you know it. You saw everything _in there._ You practically picked my brain apart.”

“I want to know how you felt when you first saw her,” Ruvik explained, his voice almost a whisper. “How did you realize you were attracted to her. When did you realize it was love.”

They weren’t questions, really, they were more like statements—statements Sebastian didn’t want to discuss. He had no idea why Ruvik was suddenly interested in such a topic, but didn’t want to look for answers. Not now.

“Well, it’s complicated. She was my partner. And I knew work wasn’t a place for romance, so I tried to keep it, uh, on the down-low. Not to show too much affection or anything.”

“You were afraid to ruin your partnership,” Ruvik concluded, this time genuinely interested.

“Yes. And no. I kinda had a feeling we’d get together at some point. But she was hard to approach, a no-nonsense kinda woman, my type.” Sebastian sighed, and it came out bittersweet, nostalgic. “I was young, felt like a fool around her. She had those eyes, serious, cold, you know? I never knew what she was thinking. I often told her something, a joke or a story, and she gave me a long look and one of those smiles, small, polite once. _You’re an idiot, Castellanos_ type. She was a loving woman deep down, just… careful. When we were dating she told me she’d fallen for me early on, but thought that maybe it wasn’t worth it. Maybe I was too much of an idiot, and she’d regret this. It’s hard to work together after you hooked up, and we were great partners.”

He remembered their first meeting so well: Myra in her navy-blue suit, with a cup of coffee in her hand, eyeing him with playful suspicion. Him regretting he didn’t put on the new tie he’d bought in the mall that week. A sweet memory that was always making him feel like an old wound was starting to open.

However, this time, with Ruvik by his side, it felt different.

“Once, I thought I would make a move, this time for sure.” Sebastian chuckled at the memory. “I asked her to come to my place, cooked something, bought some nice liquor. And she came over, she looked gorgeous, and we had dinner... Then she got a bunch of case files out of her bag. Said, “Right, let’s get to work”. We managed to do a bunch of case-related stuff, I can’t complain. Smoked a couple cigarettes outside, too—back then I had this landlord, nasty one, didn’t let me smoke at home—and it felt amazing to stand next to her, be around her, make her smile... That’s probably when I realized I was in love. With a girl who’d brought case files to a supposed date night, can you imagine?”

There was no answer. Sebastian thought about Myra, about how young and naive they were, always diving head first into work, always trying to impress each other. It was almost bizarre to think about that now, and probably there was no need—as nice as the memories were, they still left him with a sour aftertaste of guilt. He shook his head, trying to ground himself in reality, and then threw a quick glance to the left.

Ruvik was in his usual spot, still facing the door, silent. He looked almost peaceful, and Sebastian decided not to ask if he was asleep or not.

***

Barbed wire dug into his throat, cold metal on his hot, irritated skin. He feverishly gasped for air while blood leisurely trickled down his fingers, black in the dim light of the cluttered room. He could taste it, sickeningly sweet, revolting, with a faint undertone of rot.

Ruvik was lying a few inches away, his head blown off, scarred chin sticking out of the gory mess that used to be his face. Blood and brain matter everywhere, painting the carpet dark brown. Sebastian closed his eyes.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at the body, _really_ look at it. Ruvik wasn’t dead, he just doesn’t die—both a blessing and a curse of being a ghost in the machine. Except this time something felt off. Sebastian tried calling his name, but only choking, gurgling noises came out, and the thick silence of the room eagerly swallowed them, not leaving a single trace.

Sebastian didn’t remember pulling the trigger, but it was clearly a shotgun wound—if missing half the head could be called a wound. Panic surged within him, fear wrapping around his already compressed throat, dragging him in, engulfing him like a tar pit trap. His fingers instinctively grabbed the wire, making little thorns dig deep into his flesh. 

Ruvik was dead. Irreversibly dead. This bone-chilling realization made Sebastian’s limbs tremble; he couldn’t, wouldn’t let that happen, he promised not to. And yet he was just standing there, a helpless little human trapped in the overmighty machine, unable to get out of a simple trap. 

He screamed on top of his lungs as he tugged at the wire, desperate, submerged into blinding pain. He needed to get to Ruvik—it was his last thought before the ground gave way under his feet, STEM falling apart, ruled by a dead man.

The wall gave in first, and Sebastian was suddenly free. He drew a sharp breath and inevitably fell to his knees, crawling towards Ruvik, grabbing the charred hand. Ruvik was dead, and he failed to protect him. There was nothing he could do now.

The last piece of the floor crumbled, and darkness swallowed both of them. Sebastian braced himself for impact, but nothing happened, no crash, no landing, no pain—there was only emptiness sucking him in. He was falling, falling endlessly, not knowing if this was ever going to end.

“Seb—”

He jolted awake, feeling a cool hand on his upper arm. Ruvik was standing next to the couch, alive, with a worried frown, leaning a little closer than necessary.

Sebastian tried to ground himself in reality. He was in his own home. On his couch, legs hurting from having to sleep curled up, feet pressed against the armrest. Ruvik was alive. Torres came yesterday, threatened them with a gun. 

_Ruvik was alive._

“I had a nightmare.” Sebastian’s voice was hoarse and the words came out thin, barely audible. He coughed, almost expecting to see splashes of blood on his palm, but it remained clean.

“I could see.” Ruvik frowned, his light hand suddenly gone. “What was it about?”

“You. You were dead.”

Ruvik’s brow twitched, he was undoubtedly interested.

“What killed me?”

 _I did,_ Sebastian thought but instead of saying it out loud he just shrugged his shoulders. He couldn’t bring himself to admit this, not this, anything but this.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know, you were dead, and I couldn’t do anything, just stood there like an idiot.”

Ruvik sighed and his face went back to its usual state—cold, unmoving, calculating.

“You shouldn’t drink so much. Alcohol negatively affects—”

“Got any other news for me, doc?” Sebastian sat up, watching Ruvik purse his lips. “How are you feeling after—You know, everything.” 

Ruvik instantly stiffened and his eyes darted towards the door. He looked dodgy, tense, as if he was suddenly overcome by desire to get as far away as possible. He was clearly afraid of where this conversation might lead.

“I’m feeling better,” he muttered, not knowing where to look or where to put his hands. 

“And how is your tongue?” Sebastian sort of liked this new Ruvik, it was fun to watch him struggle. Yesterday felt like a fever dream and Sebastian couldn’t blame him—they’d both said and done some things they would definitely need to address. Hopefully not any time soon.

“It’s not swollen, which is already a good thing,” Ruvik said. “I won’t be able to have breakfast though. You will have to do it alone.”

“Yeah, you probably turned your tongue into hamburger meat.” A stern look on Ruvik’s face made Sebastian chuckle. “Okay, seriously, not even coffee?”

“I can stay in the kitchen with you if that’s what you want. I have already packed my bag.” Ruvik’s eyes were shifting from one thing to another; he was looking everywhere except Sebastian. Staying in the kitchen together would be nothing but awkward.

“It’s fine, we can get something on our way.” 

Seeing Ruvik visibly relieved made Sebastian’s heart sink. He stuffed a few things into a duffle bag—mostly clothes, just enough to get by. They walked through the parking lot in tense silence, hunched under drizzling rain, hoods pulled over their eyes. Ruvik didn’t take off his own even in the car; he just sat there, bundled under his thick field jacket, unmoving, deep in thought.

They stopped at a drive through and Sebastian ordered a breakfast looking more like a lunch—a burger, some fries, coffee. He asked for two cups—just out of habit—and only then realized Ruvik can’t drink anything but water.

“Sorry, I can—”

“It’s fine, Seb,” Ruvik just shrugged it off and went back to eyeing the drops of rain on the window. He was suspiciously quiet, but Sebastian didn’t want to push him—his guts twisted uncomfortably at the thought of what he might hear.

Their relationship was undoubtedly more than just a partnership, it was a twisted amalgam of conflicting emotions and feelings, but at this point it was clearly more than just two people working on a case together. Sebastian was trying to shove this realization as far to the back of his mind as possible, but last night it had become so painfully obvious there was no sense in denial. 

Ruvik was a very in-your-face kind of man, but it was hard to know whether there were any feelings involved—or whether he was capable of feeling anything at all. There was a big chance that it all was just a mindless, senseless game of cat and mouse, and if so, Sebastian was losing.

“So, how does it feel?” He asked when they stopped at the side of the road so he could hastily eat his food. Big drops of rain were hitting the windshield with audible thuds, making the streets of Krimson City seem blurry and gray, but his coffee was still good, hot enough to have a cigarette with it, and it was the only thing that kept his mood from deteriorating.

Ruvik immediately tensed up, it seems like every conversation about yesterday triggered him. He had been watching Sebastian out of the corner of his eye, but now he reluctantly turned his face towards him, eyes red, rash almost black in the darkness of the upcoming storm.

“What do you mean?” 

“A seizure.” Sebastian sighed, biting on his burger and feeling the sauce starting to leak from the other side. “I’ve never asked, but I’ve always wanted to.”

“Oh.” Ruvik nodded, contemplating an answer. “Generalized seizures don’t really feel like anything, if that’s what you are asking. I’m unconscious and even after I wake up, some of my actions are automatisms.”

“Right.” Sebastian didn’t understand much, but decided not to admit it, since it could lead to Ruvik diving further into medical gibberish. “And what about… Do you feel anything before you, uh, pass out?”

“I suppose you are referring to auras, which is a separate category.” Ruvik’s hands balled into fists, his nails digging into the cuffs of his jacket. He clearly had a special relationship with this topic. “They are—I wouldn’t describe them as a pleasant experience. It’s like… a lot of thoughts are being jammed into my head at once, and I’m forced to relive hundreds of memories in the span of a second. Some of them are not even real, they are just a product of my malfunctioning mind.”

Sebastian shivered at the thought.

“Sounds a lot like—”

“Yes, what you saw in STEM was pretty close. My mind is completely overrun with thoughts and experiences I can’t possibly embrace, I hallucinate, I don’t remember where I am and how did I get there… I’ve gotten used to the feeling over the years, of course.” Ruvik’s throat violently contracted in protest. “But the feeling of losing control of your own mind is pretty traumatic.”

Sebastian scoffed.

“You tell me.”

It came off pretty harsh, but by the time he noticed the sullen look on Ruvik’s face, it was already too late. 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound… like that.” Sebastian’s hand found its way to Ruvik’s arm—an awkward reassuring gesture. Ruvik twitched, but didn’t push it away. His gaze turned flat, glassy.

“It’s fine,” he muttered. “You’ve been through a lot. Your anger is something I would never be able to stifle.”

Sebastian sighed.

“Listen, you’ve already done more than enough for that, okay?” His fingers squeezed the sleeve, trying to find Ruvik’s bony arm under thick layers of fabric. “I get bitter sometimes, but at this point it’s my problem to deal with, not yours. The last thing I want at this point is to guilt-trip you.”

“You do not need to pretend it wasn’t my fault.”

“It _was_ your fault, but torturing you with guilt every day is not something I am after.”

Ruvik’s eyes had this unhealthy glow of a desperate man, unwilling to let go of his pride.

“What is it you’re after, Sebastian?”

He never called him Sebastian, it had always been Seb—their very own gimmick that started as a taunt and turned into a subtle display of friendliness. As frightening and dubious as Ruvik’s displays of affection were, Sebastian got used to them and maybe even learned to appreciate their awkwardness. Watching Ruvik lose his calm now, seeing a sudden surge of resentment in his eyes made him feel unnerved, hollowed out. He wanted to take Ruvik’s hand in his, but it seemed awkward, and he was still holding a burger, fingers stained with tomato sauce.

“I, uh—” He stuttered. Was there a less suitable moment for such a conversation? “Shit, I have no idea, but I meant what I said yesterday, okay? We’ve both been through some shit, and I don’t wanna make it worse by blaming you. Seeing you in pain makes me hate myself.”

Ruvik’s eyes widened, and his hand jerked up, shaking Sebastian’s fingers off.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed. “I don’t want you to pity me. Or worse—to think I _want to_ be pitied.”

“Christ, so that’s what it was all about? You think I pity you?” Sebastian threw the leftovers back into the paper bag—he felt stupid just sitting out there, pathetic, holding a stupid burger while his feelings were being made fun of. Ruvik was watching him closely, glassy-eyed, rigid, as if afraid Sebastian was going to hit him. This was making the whole situation so much worse.

“I don’t fucking know how to talk to you,” Sebastian muttered. He was waiting for Ruvik to say something, but the bastard was just listening, tense, hiding behind the glass wall of his arrogance. “It’s called affection, not pity. I don’t wanna hurt you, because I _care_ , not because I think you’re pathetic. And don’t you fucking dare act like there’s no difference. I just—I want everything between us to be different, but my trust issues are acting up or your trust issues are acting up, and it’s just one giant fucking shitshow.”

Ruvik was quiet, his head cocked slightly to the side in bewilderment.

“What I’m after—” Sebastian continued, his cheeks flaring up. “What I’m after is having you by my side, no matter what kinda fucked-up history we have. And you have no idea how much I’m willing to put on the line for that.”

He fell silent, clenching the steering wheel, unable to talk any further. His coffee was probably lukewarm at this point, and there was no point in drinking it. He tried pulling the pack of cigarettes out of his front pocket—he desperately needed a smoke, no matter what Ruvik had to say—but before he could lower the car window, he felt a light, warm hand on his thigh.

“I want one, too,” Ruvik said, and when Sebastian turned to face him, his gaze was sharp, serious. The tips of his ears were burning—a faint shade of pink against his soft white hair.

“I’m willing to put everything on the line, Seb,” he continued, his voice gruff, low. “If something happens to you, I won’t stop until I hunt down and kill every last one of them. I will go back to being the monster they know so well. And they will suffer.”


End file.
